Last night I told my husband, “The next time I suggest our family go out to dinner, splash cold water on my face and steal $60 from my wallet. That would probably be more fun.”
We were driving home from the Black Angus.
I love the Black Angus. The campfire feast for two, the sidekicks, the grilled artichoke; all of it is delish. It thrills me that you can try out any steak sauce you want, although I usually opt for my childhood favorite, A1. When we received a coupon for Black Angus in the mail the other day, I got right on my phone and made a reservation for four.
Sliding into the booth that evening I told my infamous Black Angus story. When I was little, I leaned down to drink my soda at the restaurant one night and accidentally got the straw stuck up my nose. Thirty years later, my kids roared with laughter. That didn’t stop me from cautioning them repeatedly: “Look where your nose is going.”
That made their laughter worse. As we waited for the molasses bread to arrive my husband and I both realized we were dining in danger: Our children were giddy with joy.
Now, you might think it would be easy for joyful kids to have good restaurant manners, but you would be wrong. Complainers and whiners are nuisances for sure, but happy kids are noisy, and noisy kids garner unwanted attention. A couple of gleeful shrieks later, the retirees across the aisle shot us dirty looks.
“Booths are not for wrestling!”
“Put down the steak knife!”
“That’s not where you put an artichoke!”
To the casual listener it probably sounded like my kids were fighting. In actuality, it was the first time they had played nicely all day.
In fact, my daughter had the self-awareness to verbalize this observation, even though she’s only 6-years-old. “Mom,” she said, “don’t make us stop. We’re finally having fun together.”
I pictured two lion cubs bashing each other in the head with paws and took a hesitant sip of my water.
Then the staring contest began. If you think of a staring contest as a quiet activity that would kill time before the entrees arrived, you’d be wrong. Both my kids have signature moves when it comes to cheating. My son smooshed his sister’s nose at an inopportune moment and she retaliated by blowing into his dried-out eyeballs.
Screams. Howls. Hullabaloo! Their drinks flew across the table, disaster adverted by plastic lids.
That’s when fun became fighting and claws came out.
“Good restaurant manners right now or else we’re leaving.” I kept my voice as quiet as possible, which somehow made it scarier.
“I don’t like meat anyways,” my daughter sassed back.
But the rest of us were already drooling. The servers stood before us holding three plates of steak, and one bowl of macaroni and cheese.
Sure, dinner was delicious. But thank God it’s over.
Jennifer Bardsley is an Edmonds mom of two. Follow her on Instagram @the_ya_gal, Twitter @jennbardsley, or at teachingmybabytoread.com.
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